Into the Morning Fog
by Penelope Lane
Summary: Just a one shot. Or a two shot. Whatever. I'm not throwing it away... Munkustrap's thoughts surrounding a certain white cat who has recently made quite the impression on him...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Plot bunny came to me after seeing the new movie. I hope you enjoy! I welcome feedback!

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Macavity had been a larger threat than usual that year, so the week leading up to the Jellicle Ball was particularly chaotic for Munkustrap. The kittens had embroiled themselves in some petty drama, and he was sure that Tugger had been the catalyst, but moreover, he took it upon himself to check in with Old Deuteronomy, who had hinted at Macavity angling to be the Jellicle Choice.

A repellent idea.

Munkustrap had gallantly assured Old Deuteronomy that he would take care of it. He always took care of everything: keeping the kittens in line (exhausting), acting as Old Deuteronomy's escort now that she was in her dotage (humbling), and fighting Macavity when needed (exhilarating). Munkustrap took his role in the tribe extremely seriously. Sometimes, he was too serious.

His mind had been in several different places on the morning of the Ball, especially with the rumors surrounding the idea that Macavity had acquired a barge on the Thames… a very strange development indeed. So when she had appeared quite suddenly, he found his heart racing amidst the chaos. He reveled in showing her his world. He adored playing the role of her protector, guiding her throughout the evening, finding himself making up excuses to touch her. She was unsure, but she was unafraid, and he found himself drawn to her; she exuded a pure magnetism he found intensely alluring. Maybe she had been a much-needed distraction from the mayhem. As he circled with Macavity, he allowed a fleeting thought: was she watching him?

After sunrise, the Jellicles began to disperse, and once Munkustrap knew Old Deuteronomy was being safely escorted back to her abode by Alonzo, he allowed himself to take stock of the surprising evening. He found his eyes scanning the crowd for her—she stood out so easily with her alabaster-colored fur—and saw her from a distance.

With him.

Well, then. That was that. He'd seen them getting close earlier in the evening and had successfully kept the two from getting even closer... but it seemed his time had run out. Munkustrap, with a severe brow and a grim countenance, rolled his eyes. Of all choices…

Tugger had invited him to the requisite after party. Usually, Munkustrap would attend and leave with Demeter…or Exotica… or Cassandra… or…

But it didn't seem the couple in the distance was headed to the party.

"Come on, Dad!"

Munkustrap whirled around; Jemima called to him from a few yards away. His shoulders sunk.

"_Don't_ call me Dad." He grumbled. She ran to him and grabbed his arm. "How many _times_-"

"Come on, we'll be late to the party…" She chattered in a singsong voice and then proceeded to review the events of the evening as if he hadn't seen them for himself.

Munkustrap let the kitten lead him to what would now be a boring after party. He took one glance back, just in time to see Victoria disappear into the early morning fog.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Not really sure where this is going. Very drabble-ish/micro/sudden, but it was fun to write. Random thoughts from Munk. It straddles both movie!verse and play!verse. There are no rules. Time is a construct.

* * *

It wasn't that he was bitter that his retelling of the Pekes and the Pollicles was cut that year. It definitely wasn't that. Definitely not. Even though no one rehearsed as diligently as he did, and none of the kittens ever really captured his _vision_ for the story—they merely didn't understand—and then there was the fact that Jennyanydots tattled to Old Deuteronomy that the bit didn't seem "ready" this time…. Perhaps it was for the best; Tugger was terrible at the bagpipes. Admetus, who somehow _always_ got the role of the Rumpus Cat, _always_ tried to upstage Munkustrap. Perhaps this year, Munkustrap would get to perform his own song? Not as a Jellicle Choice, of course, but just as a way to ensure that everyone should acknowledge his important role in the ceremonies.

One could dream.

Munkustrap headed to the theater to assess the building. All seemed secure and largely in order.

Very suspicious indeed.

With a quick, wary narrowing of his eyes and a small flick of his tail, he turned and went out toward the alley, the de facto gathering spot where the Jellicles would meet before heading over to the theater.

As dusk rolled in, they started to appear in the usual fashion. Slinking, chattering, darting. Demeter was looking particularly fine, Munkustrap noted from his all-seeing perch atop a fruit box. He blinked and fixed his focus elsewhere; he didn't want to make _that_ same mistake with her again. For the third time.

The flash of headlights filled the alley and sent the majority of the cats scurrying for cover. But not Munkustrap-he had an image to protect… and he already felt safe from his high vantage point anyway. He watched with a moderate level of interest as the automobile seemed to produce a tumbling sack from its window. The vehicle sped off quickly, leaving the sack in the middle of the alley. Soon the others encircled it; Munkustrap had witnessed this type of scene many times before, and he held back. He sniffed the air, though: female. This night may start to get interesting.

She seemed to claw forth from her confines sooner than the others had, he noted. She leapt to her feet, and the Jellicles kept her inside of a circle they'd created with their bodies—the tribe had grown suspicious of outsiders, especially in regard to Macavity and his schemes. Munkustrap surveyed her from behind, observing her with a cool, standoffish air. Part Burmese, perhaps? She turned, made immediate direct eye contact with him, and it was then that all blasé facades drained from him, replaced by a startling and intense surge that made him freeze.

Well, this was quite unexpected. He fought through the internal heat that threatened to overtake him and leapt from his perch. This one, he thought, could use his personal guidance.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Mistoria Fan: Thank you so much for your thoughtful review! I like your ideas-and they fall in line with what I've been envisioning for this ficlet. Keep an eye out-Mistoria is not forgotten here!

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As they watched the Jellicle Choice float off into the morning mist, a stark realization hit Munkustrap: he must have accidentally rolled in the catnip that Bombalurina had spread throughout the Ball. She was a known connoisseur of the stuff and an aggressive enabler—he'd known from personal experience. Now, at the closing ceremonies, he felt the familiar frenetic euphoria kick in. Just behind Old Deuteronomy's shoulder, he sat, pretending to be very serious and stoic.

But in reality, he was displaying the ultimate face journey.

During her speech, she spoke of a dish a cream, and, as he locked eyes with Victoria for one moment, his tongue circled his lips for a quick second….a dish of cream…. The young white cat was first to break the gaze, and Munkustrap quickly played it off as a joke to save face, but his mind was muddled from the catnip. The vision of her before him began to get hazy.

He had a very bad feeling about this.

This attraction, like so many others he had harbored, wouldn't end well. Not with him. Not ever. Perhaps it was why he had focused so ardently on the role that Old Deuteronomy had bestowed upon him a handful of years before. He had risen to prominence among the young cats, and he had proven himself a natural leader. Some had resented his rise, and others immediately saw him as a way to get to Old Deuteronomy. Munkustrap was happy to play the gatekeeper; it gave him an identity, a purpose. It was a role he could play much easier than, say, a mate.

His role in Victoria's life—the role that he knew best-seemed to be over. Perhaps it was better that way. Given his track record, she would only hurt him. Or worse, he would hurt her. And he realized that with Victoria, that was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

He was used to protecting; he was used to fighting and defending those he cared for. Nurturing, even. The kittens didn't require much, just some standard guidance, which was his forte. He was the one everyone turned to for help or information—and he was always more than happy to provide assistance. He was the problem solver for everyone else. He always had the answers. He also thrived on being well-liked, and the only time that quality faltered was when there was a misstep with a queen.

But he could never find those answers. He was tired of making mistakes in that area.

His eyes wandered toward Mistoffelees. He'd never once dreamed that he'd be the competition. Munkustrap had been more than happy to offer encouragement, support even, to the young tom… but now? His fraternal feelings were quickly evaporating in the morning sunlight. He studied him closely, eager to solve the mystery of Victoria's obvious attraction to him. True, he had proved himself a hero in a way that Munkustrap never ever could. What private moments, what whispered words, had Mistoffelees and Victoria shared over the course of the evening?

Munkustrap's heart hurt thinking about it. He found his brow had furrowed, and he quickly smoothed out his countenance, drawing the curtain over his emotions once more. He pledged that this relationship effortlessly burgeoning before his eyes would not drive him to distraction. The intimate moments he and Victoria shared apparently didn't matter. He would have to pack them away and keep his true feelings hidden.

He'd gotten good at that.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you all for your feedback! This story is so much fun to write! I think I may actually have a plot now. I intended the chapters to be out of order time-wise, but now I'm not sure.

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"Jemima." Munkustrap pulled his eyes shut as if to ward off an oncoming headache, "no."

"But just hear me out—"

"No."

"But they said if I asked you—"

"No."

"But I think a retelling of how Mistoffelees brought back Old Deut would be a good way to commemorate a Jellicle victory." She persisted as they continued to the afterparty.

"No."

"We could use found objects and interpretive dance to—"

"No."

"You could narrate and—"

"You wouldn't want me to play a part?"

"Well, you always narrate. Who else would do it?"

He exhaled one exasperated breath, but Jemima didn't seem to notice it. "…I'll _think_ about it. For next year. I cannot guarantee—"

Jemima leapt into the air and then threw her arms around Munkustrap's neck. "Thank you!"

When they arrived at Billingsgate, the party was already fairly raucous, though all Jellicle afterparties usually were. There was talk of the Jellicle Choice, much talk, in fact. Gus seemed to be the shoe-in that year. There was also the inevitable coupling of certain cats—Rum Tum Tugger always seemed to be a top choice for _everyone_, as well as Demeter and Exotica. Of course, there would be the expected kittens a few months after the Jellicle Ball—things always seemed to work that way.

Munkustrap, suddenly overcome by a wave of weariness, sighed as he surveyed his surroundings. He was usually one to partake in some festivities, always within the appropriate social confines that were required by his leadership status. But this time felt different. He didn't want to party, he didn't want to indulge. He just wanted the attention of one cat. A cat who had slinked off in the morning and who wasn't-

_Oh dear_. _She's here._

And so she was. They were sitting by a makeshift bar counter, helping themselves to the salmon that had not been fit for sale at the end of the previous day. Munkustrap found himself smoothing the fur on the top of his head. His movement drew her attention, and she smiled at him.

_Oh no_. _No. No._

Munkustrap wanted to slink out and creep home unnoticed, and against his better judgment, he started to do just that and headed for the door.

"Munkustrap!"

He froze in the doorway, gulped, then turned to face her.

"Victoria." He managed as he watched her stand up from her salmon (and Mistoffelees' company) and come over to him.

"You're not leaving yet, are you?"

"I was…"

"I just wanted to say thank you."

"Oh—erm…you don't have to do that." His back straightened, and he conjured a fleeting smile across his lips. Maybe it was a little too wide, too artificial; Victoria gave him a bemused smile back.

"No, I do." She continued, "for welcoming me into the tribe. I'm—I'm forever grateful. I'd like to do something for you."

Munkustrap couldn't identify the feeling that he was currently experiencing—perhaps his brain was exploding. He cleared his throat and nodded with a very serious face.

In spite of the nod, he said, "that's definitely not necessary."

"I'd like to write _you_ a song."

He froze. Why did she have such a hold on him? He swallowed the lump in his throat and found that his mouth moved to form a response, but no sound came forth.

"I noticed you assisting with telling so many Jellicle stories—but I don't know yours."

"Well—I—" _Oh, shit._

"And for next year's Ball, I'd like to write something—about you."

To prevent an awkward flood of stammering and stuttering (the symptom of the internal shift of immense emotions), he pursed his lips and nodded.

"Mmmm." He gave a quiet nod.

She smiled and waited for him to speak. The pause was excruciating, especially when he realized she was waiting for him to respond to her idea.

"Well…" He began and could feel the breath in his lungs refuse to work to produce his voice, "I…think that's a …very…interesting idea."

She smiled in a way that exposed her sense of relief. Victoria had been nervous about approaching him, but she was now reassured.

"Wonderful!" She quietly exclaimed, and then suddenly darted forward to him in a move to rub faces, but halfway through the motion, she seemed to change her mind and shyly pulled back. It ended with an awkward dance-like dodge between them. She laughed, and then he did too.

"Well, enjoy the party, then…" She said sheepishly.

And before he could respond, she trotted back over to Mistoffelees.

Well, then. A song for him.

Did she intend to sit down with him and learn his story? He wondered.

Would he tell the truth to her?

If he elected to do so, would she like what she heard?


	5. Chapter 5

Munkustrap hadn't seen Victoria for several days, but he could not get her out of his mind. And what she had offered to do for him. No one had ever noticed him as she had.

A song. For him.

The idea made him shudder a little. Munkustrap had always longed for prominence in the tribe and when Old Deuteronomy had bestowed it upon him a few years back, he almost had regretted being so close to the spotlight, so exposed. He had carved out a nice place for himself in the hierarchy and reveled in have a place amongst friends, safe and in control of his image without too much lionization. He was dependable, reliable, and trustworthy—or that's how he presented himself. He had worked hard to scrub remnants of his past away and now those few Jellicles who had known who he was before he became the protector tended to allow him his previous transgressions. The others, of course, were too young to know anything. And he liked it that way; the way the kittens idolized and depended on him—it made him feel wanted. But recently, he craved more. The craving grew stronger when Victoria had appeared, seemingly out of thin air.

In his other life, Munkustrap lived a decidedly unremarkable life on Wincott Street. He had been with that family since he was small and was the household mouser who stayed mostly in the back garden. They were a decent family, he had concluded, but they never lavished him any particular praise for his efforts, nor did they bestow any special treats or gifts, as some of the other Jellicles had received from their humans. In particular, they were inexplicably repulsed by the plethora of headless rodents he had deposited at their kitchen door throughout his career, much to his perennial dismay. They simply wanted him to do his job and supplied him with a collar so that he could be easily returned if he had strayed too far.

His mind lingered on those times he had strayed too far—would they get a verse in Victoria's song for him?

Munkustrap sat huddled in the garden underneath the wrought iron loveseat, trying to keep dry from the cold rain. His ears flattened, trying to shut out the downpour. He squeezed his eyes shut and an image splashed into his mind: he could still see her falling, still hear her cry out as she slipped. He shook his head slightly and dislodged the memory until its intensity faded. He could never let anyone know, especially not Victoria.

Just after twilight, Munkustrap wandered down to the theater to see if any other Jellicles were about. They usually frequented various places around the neighborhood after dark. He slunk around as he fought general boredom until he saw Tugger outside the milkbar. He was wiping cream from the corner of his mouth.

Out of their litter, it seemed, Munkustrap had gotten the short end of the stick: Rum Tum Tugger had fallen into a prime situation as he had been given to a nice old widow who would let him come and go as he pleased and who would never get angry for long because he completely destroyed her knitting projects. He would also receive his nightly dish of cream before going out. Rum Tum Tugger never let on about how the cream affected his digestive system, but Munkustrap could still tell.

"Hello there, my dear brother." Tugger said with something of a sarcastic half bow.

"Hello."

"And how are we this fine foggy evening?"

"Well, in fact."

"I don't believe you." Rum Tum Tugger said; he had never been one to mince words.

Munkustrap knew Tugger could be direct, but he was still caught off guard.

"Well, I—" He began but Tugger silenced him.

"What is going on with you?" He asked his brother pointedly.

Munkustrap blinked. "Nothing."

Tugger's eyes narrowed. "You're not convincing me."

Munkustrap moved to cross the street but his brother followed closely. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You've been…off …since the Ball."

"Have I?" He continued on to the theater—perhaps he would find her there?

Tugger stopped walking and crossed his arms. Munkustrap turned back to him.

"Ever since the Ball…" Tugger continued, choosing his words carefully to gauge his brother's reaction. "Ever since then… you've been different. Distracted."

"You're reading into—"

"It's her. Right? The new one?"

"Who? What?"

"The new one."

Munkustrap shrugged. "You call _all_ new kittens 'the new one.' You can't remember _any_ of their names—"

"Oh, fuck off, Munk." Rum Tum Tugger grew exasperated. "You know exactly who I'm talking about."

Munkustrap grew defensive. "No, I don't."

Tugger exhaled, annoyed. "Fine, then. Fine. Come find me when you're out of this mood."

He started to turn back to the milkbar where he had a gaggle of kittens waiting for him. All of their names escaped him.

"She's with Mistofelees in the alley behind the butcher shop." He threw the words nonchalantly over his shoulder.

Munkustrap could feel his brother's smirk from a few yards away. It stung what little pride he had left.

Well, down to the butcher's he'd go.


End file.
